


Wincest Love Week - 2016 Summer Edition

by innerglow



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Fourth of July, M/M, Pranks and Practical Jokes, Prison, Stanford Era, Unrequited, Unrequited Love, Weecest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-13
Updated: 2016-06-13
Packaged: 2018-07-14 05:56:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 9,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7156325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/innerglow/pseuds/innerglow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All ficlets posted here are part of the week long <a href="http://wincestloveweek.tumblr.com">Wincest Love Week</a> on tumblr, where I was given a url to spam with wincestuous goodies.  </p><p>My lovely giftee was Philo | <a href="http://adamsdreamthief.tumblr.com">adamsdreamthief</a>, who is a bright ray of sunshine and an absolute pleasure to write for.  I hope you had a wonderful week and that you had as much fun as I did!  It was great getting you, because it gave me the opportunity to spoil you like you deserve. <3</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prompt: Fourth of July

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ganseysblue (pandaqueen)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pandaqueen/gifts).



Sam’s thirteen and his body is the exact image of the lit sparkler in his hand. The light inside of his eyes, the joy and happiness--radiates like goddamned firecrackers inside Dean’s chest. And it’s got him breathless, the sky above him popping and exploding in streams of color, but he can’t tear his own eyes from his Brother. 

Dean stopped believing in higher powers when he was just four years old, stopped holding faith for holiness that simply doesn’t exist, stopped praying the minute his mother’s breath vacated her ribs for the last time. But god, Dean’s seventeen and he’s weak in the fucking knees. There’s a shaky ‘amen’ that’s hanging in the back of his throat and for the first time in longer than he can remember--he fucking believes in something outside of himself. 

Sammy. His heart sings his Brother’s name like a prayer. It explodes there and colors Dean’s chest in every fucking color he can imagine, lighting his unbelieving beating organ--with the euphoria of a four letter word. 

“Thanks, Dean.” Sam says, his eyes holding Dean’s with meaning. 

It’s the Fourth of July and Dean will never forget it for as long as he breathes, because for the first time since he was four years old--his heart believes in the miracle of light (and love).


	2. Prompt: Phone Sex

It starts with a midnight text message from Dean.

> D: You awake?

Sam stares at the message, the white backlight blinding his sleepy eyes. He contemplates his answer, his heart pinching with how much he misses his Brother.

> S: Yea, just got done studying

He hits send and stares at his screen, mentally bitching Dean out for taking his sweet ass time--for keeping him waiting. His heart is a starved dog, his jaw-like ribcage chewing around the bone of Dean’s words--eating them up like they’re miracles he can’t let go to waste.

> D: How’d I luck out and get such a nerdy college boy of a brother?

Sam can’t help the smile that weaves across his lips, can’t help how his heart echoes that smile.

> S: How’d I end up with such a sap for a brother?
> 
> S: How’re you?

Five minutes go by and Sam is seconds from giving up on hoping for a reply. But just before he looks away, his phone buzzes.

> D: Don’t call me a sap, Samantha.
> 
> D: I’m alive...

Sam can hear the sarcasm in Dean’s last message, can read the bitterness that is nestled between each letter.

> S: I miss you

He sends it without thinking twice and curses himself seconds later. He’s halfway down a long list of how stupid he is, when his phone comes to life. Sam jolts where he lies, his ring tone blaring at high volume and his stomach falls when he sees Dean’s name in bright lights on his screen.

It’s seconds from going to voicemail, when he answers it with trembling fingers.

“He-hello?” He whispers, even though his roommate is out for the night. Whispers mostly because he doesn’t want to scare his Brother away.

“Now who’s the sap, Samantha?” Dean slurs, his voice thick with alcohol.

Sam wonders where Dean is, wonders how many tumblers of whiskey he’s had, wonders if any of them had his name written at the bottom of them--knows that it was probably all of them.

“Where’r you?” Sam questions, trying to make conversation.

“Fuck, wishin’ you were here..” Dean breathes into Sam’s ear. “It’s not the same with you gone, nothing is.”

Sam swallows the growing lump in his throat, knows him being at Stanford has been hell for his Brother. And he wishes Dean understood that it was equally hell for him, too.

“Wish you were here too, Dean.” Sam admits, his body responding to Dean’s voice in a way that betrays the innocent nature of the phone call.

He lets his hand wander down to palm over the parts of him that are downright starved for his Brother’s touch. It’s been so long, too long--if he were to be honest. Coming with the picture of his Brother painted in the back of his mind has started to get old, has started to become not enough.

“Sammy…” Dean wheezes, as though he can see through the receiver to Sam’s growing need and the hand that is trying to tame it down.

“Yea,” Sam chokes out. “Dean. I miss your…” He trails out, as his hips arch off the mattress, his cock desperate for friction.

“Yea baby boy, I know--I know.”

Sam hears Dean’s zipper come undone.

“I miss your skin, Sammy. Miss how it felt against mine.”

Sam sinks his own hand under the waistband of his boxers, lets his fingers wrap around the precome soaked length of himself. “I want you so bad, Dean.”

“Ugh, fuck.” Dean hisses, followed by distinctive sliding sounds.

“Dee--so bad, need you.” Sam pulls hard, lets his fist twist down as his hips buck up.

Dean is making those familiar wheezing grunts, the ones that Sam knows by heart. The ones that paint a different picture in Sam’s brain, that show a half naked Dean draped across the front seat of the impala. Of Dean jerking himself as he talks to his Brother, who is a thousand miles away.

“So good for me…” Dean chants. “So good, so good.”

They both are quiet then, except for their mutual grunts and moans as they pump achingly at their dicks. Both of them getting more and more turned on by the porny sounds the other makes as they get closer and closer to the edge.

“Gonna come, gonna…” Sam spits, feeling the crawling euphoria slink up his spine.

“Me too, me too.”

And a few seconds pass before they both whimper into their phones, both of them coming hard and in long aching ropes of white.

Sam’s shaking from the ecstasy of his orgasm, his hand still gripping his softening cock.

Dean’s breathing is heavy for a few beats, before he sighs loudly.

“Thanks, Sammy.”

Sam nods, his voice still lost in the land of his post orgasm lungs.

“Goodnight.” Dean whispers.

Sam hums something that sounds like ‘goodnight’ back and is stunned when the line goes dead shortly thereafter. The silence is blaringly loud in contrast to his Brother’s voice and it makes his chest tighten with just how much he misses Dean. And it’s enough to have him turn onto his side and fight the rising tide of tears behind his eyes. Because he can’t hide from the truth anymore.

His life at Stanford, it all means nothing--without his Brother by his side.


	3. Prompt: Prank Gone Wrong (Or Right?)

It starts with an empty container of oreos. Sam’s oreos, to be exact. And it’s Dean’s shit eating grin that pushes Sam over the edge, has him swearing--”I’ll get you back for this.”

Two days and a new pack of oreos later, Sam decides to live up to the promise he made just days earlier. He waits until Dean’s gone, out getting them food for the night, to get into action.

He starts with a handful of oreos, twisting them apart and licking the frosting off (the best part anyways) and then he moves to grab the tube of toothpaste out of Dean’s toiletry bag. Sam chuckles to himself as he twists the cap off and squirts a little bit of it onto one side of the black cookie. He spreads it meticulously, making sure it looks completely untouched, before he presses the second cookie on top. Turning it over in his hands, he laughs out loud, because it’s too good and Dean’s gonna get exactly what he deserves. Will teach him to never touch his oreos again. And he finishes another five of them, before placing them back into the package and considering it a job well done.

It’s a whole day later, before Sam is startled awake with the loud cursing of his Brother.

“What the--” Dean barks. “What the _fuck_ is this?” And it’s followed by gagging noises.

Sam chuckles, his eyes still closed, because victory is his. “Told you I’d get you back.”

“What if I swallowed that shit? It’s poison, Sam. Do you not care about my life?” Dean’s over by the sink now, cupping water into his hands and sipping it dramatically--trying to get the foul taste out of his mouth.

“You’re so dramatic.”

“I’ll show you dramatic, just you wait and see.” Dean makes eye contact with Sam and raises his eyebrow as if to show that he’s serious.

“You don’t scare me.” Sam smiles and then pulls the sheets back over his head. “Just stay out of my fucking oreos and then you won’t have to worry about it.”

Dean laughs sarcastically. “I’ll never get that taste out of my mouth, you’ve ruined a perfectly good snack for me. You should be apologizing, asshole.”

“I’m sorry that you don’t know how to stay out of my stuff.” Sam smiles and he knows that Dean can hear the smile even though the sheet over his head hides it from view.

“Whatever, _Samantha_.”

__

It’s exactly four days later, that Sam is jarred from his sleep with a blow horn directly next to his ear. It has him yelling, his eyes slamming open, and his heart racing lopsided from the unexpected jolt into the conscious world. He feels his body try to slink away from the offensive sound, but he is met with unexpected resistance.

“Good morning!” Dean’s peppy face peers down at him, with the biggest smile he’s ever seen.

Sam scowls back and then lifts his head up to see just exactly why he can’t move. “Jesus.” He hisses, sleep still filling his voice, as he takes in a thick layer of plastic wrap around his body, securing him to the mattress he lies on.

“I’m not, Jesus.” Dean is wheezing out strings of uncontrollable laughter. “But I’m pretty close.”

“You want to talk about being dramatic?” Sam gives his Brother the meanest bitch face he can manage. “This pretty much takes the cake.”

Dean bats his eyelashes, feigning being offended. “Why, Samantha...I’m shocked that you can’t take a joke!”

“I’ll show you a fucking joke.” Sam tries to move against the plastic wrap, but it doesn’t budge.

“Are you sure about that?” Dean looks down at him with condescension in his voice. “Doesn’t look like you can show me anything at the current moment.”

“I hate you.” Sam tries again, more forcefully, and is surprised when the wrap around his chest gives just enough to let him free one of his hands.

“How could you ever hate…” Dean waves his hand over his face and body. “This?”

Sam groans at his Brother and works to free the rest of his limbs. It takes him a few minutes, but when he’s finally free, there’s a bead of sweat across his forehead and it just further aggravates him. When he swings his legs over the edge of the bed, Dean takes in his menacing look and starts to back away.

“Oh come on…” Dean tries to reason. “It was funny. You _know_ it was.”

“Funny? I’ll show you funny.” Sam chides, his body launching from the bed, his legs making fast strides over to his Brother.

Dean tries to escape into the bathroom, but Sam has his hands around his arm and is yanking him back out through the doorway. He spins him around and tries to slam him onto the ground so he can whoop his ass, but he’s met with four years his senior of muscled resistance. But it doesn’t stop him from bending down fastly and getting Dean over his shoulder just enough to turn and launch him onto the bed.

“I’m gonna kick your ass.” Sam snarls, his breathing already labored.

Dean lands on the bed with a thump and he tries to roll off before Sam can get on top of him, but is just seconds too slow. Sam pounces on top of him and is reaching for his arms, so he can pin them against the mattress and he gets close when Dean arches himself off the bed and makes Sam fall backwards onto the mattress. Dean is quick and has his hands on Sam’s body, trying to manipulate him into submission, but is met with a fight he almost can’t win.

They struggle like this for ten minutes, both of them getting elbow jabs, bruised ribs and pulled muscles. But it finally ends with Dean pinning Sam’s hands over his head onto the mattress, the tried and true sign of who is victorious.

“The day you kick my ass, Samantha, is when the sun doesn’t rise.” Dean huffs out, his breath blowing against Sam’s sweat smeared face.

Sam fights against Dean’s hands, tries to get free, tries to not let his Brother have the last say.

“Give it up.” Dean smiles, the heat of his body radiating the length of Sam’s own.

Sam stares up into the greenest eyes he’s ever known and he wants to fight, wants kick his Brother off of him and tell him to go fuck himself. But more than that, there’s a heat pooling in his stomach that has been growing thicker as the years go by. And it’s only amplified by their huffing lungs, as they both try to regain their breath.

“Fuck you.” Sam whispers, but it comes out less threatening and more playful.

“Mm, you wish.” Dean quips and then blushes when he realizes what he said.

“Yea.” Sam lets out.

Dean stares down at him then, stares at him like he’s some foreign language he has been trying to understand all his life, but has never quite cracked the code--until now.

It happens then, fast and electrified, Dean’s lips pressing hastily against Sam’s own. And Sam kisses back, his entire body switching gears, going from fight to _I want more_ , in a matter of seconds.

Both of their bodies come alive in ways they’ve never admitted to themselves, their skins blooming unspoken secrets, ones that speak of a forbidden love, of a want in their guts that neither of them should have, of dark desires that swirl in their veins and how they’ve spent years fighting against them.

But now, they find themselves relinquishing into the fire inside of their ribs, letting their hands roam the secret hiding places of the other’s skin and maybe it’s just a kiss, but it’s also a dream come true.

It started with stolen oreos, but it ends with one hell of a kiss.


	4. Prompt: Prison!Au

Dean Winchester doesn’t kill for the thrill, but if you touch his fucking Brother, you better start digging your own grave--’cause you’re a goddamned dead man.

Joe Machado finds this out the hard way.

It all started with a hunt that lead them right into the local authorities hands. Neither one of them saw it coming, but they should’ve. And well, that’s what busts Dean’s balls the most, because their little stint behind bars could’ve been completely unavoidable if they played it a little more safe. But no, they had to dig up a fucking grave in broad daylight and of course--Deputy Kiss Ass just had to be trailing their every move.

It’s so predictable, that it’s downright embarrassing.

But Sam tells him to calm down, to relax. Tells him that he sent the warning text to Bobby, tells him that they’ll be out before the week is over. But Dean can’t relax, he feels cagey and he won’t admit it out loud, but he wants to murder every fuckface that bats their no good eyes at his Brother.

The first time Joe Machado crosses Dean Winchester, it’s during lunch time.

Sam’s carrying his tray back to an empty table that somehow hasn’t been claimed, when Joe bumps into him and makes loud whistling noises as he cards his eyes down the length of Sam’s lanky frame. Dean feels rage boil in his chest as he drops his own tray and marches over to push Joe from behind, knocking him against the empty table with a loud crash.

“Oh... _hell_ no!” Joe hisses as he pushes himself from the table and turns to swing hard right into Dean’s left cheekbone.

“Keep your fuckin’ eyes to yourself.” Dean spits, even though he sees three Joe’s in front of his face. He lurches forward and tries to get his hands around Joe’s throat, but Sam’s got his fist in the back of his orange jumpsuit.

“Dean…” Sam warns, obviously seeing the guards coming their way. “Stop. It’s fine.”

Dean twirls his head around to look Sam square in the eyes. “Let go, Sam.”

“No.”

Joe lands a punch right into Dean’s gut then and it knocks the air completely from Dean’s body. Has him doubling over and coughing, trying to catch the breath that escapes him. It takes a few seconds before he rights himself, tearing himself out of Sam’s grip and aiming to land a punch of his own into Joe’s side. And then an all out brawl unfolds, chairs flying and tables screeching across the floor, as the lunch room gets rowdy with the escalating fight.

It doesn’t last for more than five minutes more before both men are being pulled apart and escorted out of the lunch room separately.

Dean Winchester lands himself in solitary confinement. And wouldn’t you know, so does Joe. As luck would have it, the prison walls are paper thin and Joe decides to make every single moment they have to spend together, fucking hell.

“What I would do to him…” Joe says creepily. “Sam, is it?” And then he chuckles under his breath. “God, what I would _do_ to your little doe-eyed boy. Mmmyes.”

“Shut your _fucking_ mouth!” Dean’s jaw is clenched and his words are lethal when they hit their air. But apparently Joe finds it humorous.

“I’d make him get on his knees for me.” Joe makes an approving sound. “Bet he would look so good with his lips around my dick. Bet he’d suck it like a pro, make me come like I haven’t come in _fucking_ years.” Joe moans then. “Bet he’d _swallow_ every bit of me down, too.”

“I’ll _kill_ you if you say another word!” Dean barks, punches his fist against the wall that connects them, his already bruised knuckles--tearing to bleed.

“Oh god, his pink lips swollen and perfect, wrapped around me so tightly.” Joe makes a grunting noise and it’s followed by wet sounds. “Oh god, _Sammy Boy_.”

Dean sees red as the nickname that is only reserved for his lips, rolls out of the Piece of Shit’s mouth. Feels himself go from pissed off to goddamned murderous in just seconds. And Joe should thank his fucking stars that Dean’s locked away, because it’s the only reason he’s still breathing air.

When Joe comes, loudly, Dean sits in the corner of his own cell and plots his next move. Bids his time well, making sure Joe gets exactly what’s coming to him.

\--

Two days go by before Dean is lead back this original cell. When he passes by Sam’s, he makes eye contact with his Brother and tries to hide the intent to kill from his eyes.

“Dean??” Sam unfolds himself from his cot and races to the bars of his cell. “Hey, Dean..are you okay? I’ve been so worried.”

Dean waits until his cell clanks shut before he answers in a monotone voice. “Just fine.”

\--

Three hours later, they’re in the prison yard and Dean’s biding his time playing poker and winning himself a fat stack of cigarettes. Sam laughs when he cracks a joke, but Dean sees how his Brother eyes him worriedly--knows something is up, knows Dean is hiding something and he’s trying to figure out just exactly what it is. But Dean just keeps placing bets, keeps winning, keeps smiling wide.

At exactly 2pm, the fire alarm sounds and chaos erupts on the yard. Dean pounces from his place, leaving his winning stack of cigs, to bolt his way over to where Joe has been hanging with his crew. Sam’s shadowing him, his long legs keeping pace with his desperate ones, but still always out of hands reach from stopping him.

“Dean...hey.. Dean?!” Sam calls after him. “What are you doing? Stop!”

Joe sees him coming then, makes eye contact with his maker and Dean’s face is painted in something ugly when he finally reaches his destination. Dean reaches into his pocket and pulls out the knife he smuggled out of the kitchen on their first day in (“...just can’t be too safe, Sammy.” He had said.).

Joe and Sam see the glinting metal at the same time.

“Whoa, easy…” Joe paces back a few steps. “I was just jokin’ around, man. C’mon.”

“Dean! NO!” Sam’s got his hands on Dean’s back, trying to get a grip on his Brother and pull him out of the trance he’s in. But it’s not enough.

Dean’s got the knife between Joe's ribs, got it arched just right, and is pushing it straight through the crooked heart that beats behind them. Joe is stunned, his eyes wide and his mouth open, but there’s no air moving in or out. Dean smiles then, and twists the blade as much as he can before the resistance is too much and then he grabs a fistful of Joe’s shirt and pulls him close, so he can hear Dean’s next words clearly.

“You’ll never fucking touch my _Brother_ again.”

Dean lets go of him then, watches as he sags onto the ground before him and finally feels the knot of rage in his chest start to come undone. He looks over his shoulder to Sam, who stares horrified at the bloody scene in the grass at Dean’s feet.

“Jesus Christ.” Sam whispers, his eyes finally coming up to meet Dean’s.

Dean fears what he’ll find in those eyes, fears he’ll find the reflection of a monster he’s been trying to suffocate for years. He holds his breath as he lets Sam’s eyes focus onto his own and he’s knocked breathless when he understands what reads back in them.

It’s not disgust, it’s all consuming lust.

“Sammy…” Dean’s bloody hand reaches out and up for Sam’s face, the hot blood smearing across Sam’s cheek. “I’ll never let anyone look at you the way I do.”

“Promise?” Sam questions, as though the dead man behind them isn’t proof enough. As though he needs to hear the damned words out loud.

“Yea, Sammy-- _I promise_.”


	5. Prompt: Hypothermia in July

“I double dog, dare you.” Dean teases.

Sam looks back over his shoulder, following the voice of his Brother. He catches the devil in those green eyes, the ones that call him a _chicken_. And well, Sam Winchester is a lot of things, but he’s definitely not a fucking chicken.

“What do I get if I do it?” Sam raises his eyebrow, halfway accepting the bait.

Dean breaks their eye contact while he debates it for a second, his bottom lip sucked up and between his teeth as he concentrates. But then the lightbulb goes off and Dean’s sinfully pink lips spread into a lethal grin. “I’ll let you drive…” He winks. “For a whole week.”

Sam’s eyes grow into the size of saucers as he lets the offer settle in his chest. “For a whole week?” He hears his own lips echoing.

“That’s right, Sammy. You get to call the shots for a whole week.”

“Just to be clear, we’re not talking about the impala…” Sam feels a shit eating grin of his own form across his lips, a dare of his own lit up in his eyes.

“Easy there, Princess…” Dean purrs. “I wanna see the merchandise first.” Dean’s eyes roam down over the length of Sam’s body.

“Jerk.” Sam hisses, as he turns back to the lake that spans endlessly out before them.

“Bitch.”

It’s the middle of July, but it’s a chilly forty degrees in the Sierra Nevada. And if Sam’s breath is any indication, his balls are gonna invert themselves when he hits the water. His insides groan at just the idea of it, but he’s not gonna turn down this dare--not when the stakes are too good to pass up.

Sam scans the waterline, trying to take in any signs of life besides the two of them, even turns around to look behind them--just to be sure. And when he sees nothing but pure darkness all around them, the only sounds being the slow waves behind him, he reaches for the buttons of his flannel shirt. He goes slow, drags it out and puts on a little show for his big Brother. Once he’s got the buttons undone, he slowly shrugs out of it, letting the fabric fall from his body in slow motion, exposing his white undershirt. He gets his fingers up under the hem of it, pulls it up just far enough to flash the little trail of hairs that sprout like a vine from the waistband of his jeans.

“Goddamned tease.” Dean’s words slice the air, his breath caught somewhere in the back of his throat, his eyes never tearing away from Sam’s fingers and the exposure of skin.

“Like that?” Sam whispers, barely loud enough for Dean to hear. He inches the white shirt up a bit more, hitching it up over his chest, exposing his nipples into the chilly air.

“Yea…” Dean licks his lips, his eyes fastened to the pink buds that stand erect in the moonlight.

Sam palms his hands over them as he ducks his head out of his shirt and lets it fall onto the ground on top of his flannel. He lets Dean gawk at the nakedness of him, before he braves the lower half that is still clothed. His fingers wrap around he buckle of his belt, his hands busy manipulating it until it clanks open against the front of his pants, and then his fingers unbutton his jeans--pulling the zipper down. He traces both hands along hips, lets his fingers disappear below his jeans and boxers, his arms working to push them off. And when he finally kicks his feet out of the legs of his jeans, a shiver travels up the length of him.

“Jesus.” Dean huffs, his breath a puff of air that swirls around the both of them.

Sam blushes in response, the tips of his ears heating and betraying him completely.

“So beautiful.” Dean steps closer, his hand reaching out to card its way over Sam’s angled cheekbone, anchoring itself in the tuffs of hair at the base of his neck.

Sam closes his eyes at the touch of his Brother, every cell in his body focusing on the warmth of that calloused hand as it rests against his neck, coloring the vast difference between that touch and the rest of his naked body. It makes a rolling shiver dance up his spine and has his mouth parting to hang open from the exhilaration of it.

Dean leans in then, his lips ghosting over Sam’s, their breaths mingling at the promise of a kiss. And it’s got Sam breathless, his lips vibrating with the heat of Dean’s so close to him. It’s electric, hypnotizing, and for a moment there’s nothing else but the two of them tangoing around the exhales of each other’s lungs.

“Get your ass in the water.” Dean is the one who breaks the moment, before both of them swan dive into the deep end of each other’s mouths.

Sam makes a soundful complaint and wishes they could just forget about the dare and skip to the parts that has their bodies colliding against black leather. But of course, his Brother has to be a pain in the ass, can’t let a good opportunity to see Sam freeze his butt off--pass him by.

“Whatever,” Sam sighs, before he turns around and starts edging himself closer to the licking waves on the sand. “Kiss my ass.”

Dean chuckles behind him. “Later, Baby Boy… got plenty time for that.”

Sam wants to yelp when his toes taste the cold temperature of the water for the first time, but he just balls his fists at his sides instead. He takes a deep breath then, lets it out and starts running straight for the water. It’s colder than he had expected and knocks the wind from his lungs as he gets waist deep and finally arches himself to dive under the surface. He swims a good length out into the lake, a few feet away from the shore and bobs up to the surface, his lungs full of curses.

“Jesus _fucking_ christ!” He shouts as his dick tries to crawl itself back inside of his body. Every inch of his skin, screams with the chill of the water and it has him temporarily overwhelmed and unable to move.

“Sam…” Dean shouts from the shore. “C’mon… you win.” An edge of worry painting his voice.

“Fu..f..fuck.” Sam’s lips shiver around the word, his ears picking up Dean’s words, but his brain charlie horses on the meaning of them. “S..soo..cold.” He whispers to himself, his arms fanning at his sides, barely keeping him afloat.

“I’m serious, Sam…” Dean tries the fatherly tone. “Get outta the water, you’re gonna get sick.”

Sam tries to propel himself back towards the shore and he gets a few strides back before his arms scream with exhaustion and his legs cramp up. It’s unexpected and has him thrashing in a panic when he feels his body start to slide under the surface. It’s a losing fight though, because the more he fights, the more his head goes back under the water and the more his lungs fill with water.

“Sammy!” Dean shouts from the shore, his own body charging into the water.

It takes only a minute for Dean to reach Sam, to get his arms around him and pull him up. And his own body screams as he puts his arms around Sam’s chest, his legs pumping them back to the shore as fast as he can kick them.

“He-hey,” Dean shakes Sam as he pulls him out of the water, his Brother’s body nothing but dead weight. “Sa-Sam...Sammy!” He shakes more vigorously, his chest tightening with the growing flare of panic in his chest.

Color bleeds back into Sam’s eyes and he takes a shaky breath as he comes back to reality, his Brother’s hands curled tightly around his face, his eyes lit with undeniable hints of worry. Sam coughs, his lungs burning with the lick of choked water and it’s then that he feels the cold air swirling around his soaked body. “C-cold.” Is the only word he can work out of his mouth.

“ _Jesus_.” Dean curses as he feels relief that Sam is still with him and also a different panic, because he needs to get Sam out of there and warm him up. “Gonna get you outta here, just stay with me...stay awake.”

Sam nods and then feels Dean’s hands get under him and lift him up. Dean grunts with the weight of him, but carries him smoothly back to the impala and gets him in the front seat. Once he’s there, Dean turns the engine on and blasts the heat as high as it’ll go, reaching into the back for their blankets. Sam shivers violently as Dean throws one, and then two blankets over his body and rubs his shoulders, trying to quicken up the warm up process.

“There...good as new.” Dean reassures and Sam can’t decide if it’s more for himself than it is for him. “Scared me half to death, you asshole.”

“Yea-a,” Sam tries to smile, his face warming thanks to the blast of the heater. “Love you, too.”

Dean wraps around Sam then, hugs him down against his chest and smooths his fingers through his hair. “Don’t ever pull that crap again.”

“You dared…” Sam hiccups on his own breath. “Me.”

“Yea, well, I didn’t think you’d forget how to swim out there.”

Sam shrugs and nuzzles his face closer to Dean’s chest. “Just wanted to drive.”

“Don’t need to go get your crazy ass hypothermia in July-- to call the shots for a week, Sammy.”

Sam pulls away to look at Dean in the eyes then and is surprised when he finds nothing but blown open honesty there. “Coulda told me that sooner.”

“Yea, well-- _again_...didn’t think you’d go try to drown yourself…” Dean pulls Sam back down and presses his lips against Sam’s temple. “Don’t scare me like that again-- _Bitch_.”

Sam’s halfway back to human when he presses his lips against Dean’s throat and whispers, “Yea..okay, _Jerk_.”


	6. Prompt: Unrequited Weecest Angst

“I can’t leave you here, so...you’re gonna have to come with, kiddo.” Dean says, a half smile etched across his face.

“I’m not four anymore.” Sam spits, as he rolls his eyes. “I’m twelve.”

“Yeah well, you’re more than welcome to call dad and tell him that. Last time I left you alone, I didn’t hear the end of it, for weeks. Not going down that road again. Sorry, Sammy.”

“Whatever.”

Sam sits on the edge of the bed and watches as Dean puts the finishing touches of gel in his hair. The smell of it makes Sam’s insides buzz in a way that it shouldn’t, but he couldn’t stop it even if he tried. And it is that heat in his stomach that has him falling back on the bed dramatically, reaching for a pillow to put over his head. All he can hear is a muffled laugh from Dean, who clearly has no idea his little brother has it bad for him.

“It won’t be that bad,” Dean says, slapping Sam’s knee as he walks by. “I’ll buy you those reese’s things you like.”

‘Yea, because if I’m gonna make it through this night, I’m gonna need some goddamned chocolate’, Sam thinks. After all, it’s bad enough he has to pretend he doesn’t want Dean in those ways, but now he has to watch Dean be with a girl--in front of him. And he knows he shouldn’t care, brother’s aren’t supposed to, not in the ways he does. But he still can’t help the wave of nausea that rolls up the back of his throat every time he thinks about his brother’s hands on anyone who isn’t him.

Call it jealousy, call it whatever. All Sam knows, is that he doesn’t like it and the more he thinks about it, the more it agitates him.

When they pick up Anne Lewis, she’s got her skirt so short, that if she bent over, it’d leave little to the imagination. Sam scoffs in the backseat as Dean opens the door for her and makes sure she’s all in before giving her a classic ‘Dean Winchester wink’ and shutting the door.

Sam stares holes into the back of her pretty brown hair, the entire way to the theater. And if anyone were to ask, he definitely wasn’t planning all the possible ways he could murder her and get away with it.

In fact, he’s in the middle of a particular vivid daydream that involves a knife in her chest a few dozen times, when Dean coughs and gives him a ‘what the fuck?’ look in the rearview mirror. Apparently, his face wasn’t covering up his emotions as well as he thought. He mouths ‘sorry’ and rolls his eyes, and Dean just looks away and guns the engine.

Dean probably thinks Sam’s moodiness is some early teen rebellion, probably thinks Sam is just being a spoiled brat about having to go. And well, maybe those are parts of it, but it’s still not the big picture. Because, well--if Dean actually knew what this was all about, there’s no way Sam would be sitting in the backseat right now. Instead, Dean would’ve had no problem leaving his sick-in-the-head little Brother at home, no matter the repercussions.

Sam stares out the window and swallows down the heavy guilt in the back of his throat. Who did he think he was and why did he think Dean couldn’t go on a date, just because he couldn’t handle it? It’s not up to him to handle it. He’s supposed to be a twelve year old kid who is just tagging along, because Dean had no other choice. He should actually be content that he’s even going to a movie at all, because those kinds of luxuries are something they aren’t often afforded with. But no, here he is, hating everything that makes him who he is. Everything that puts that tight feeling in his chest, the one that squeezes the breath out of his lungs every time Dean gets too close. The things that make his body respond in ways he can’t control. In ways he can’t even fully understand yet.

When they’re inside the theater, Dean sits in the middle, Sam on his left and Anne on his right. However, Dean’s entire attention span is only on Anne and her every move. And Sam? Well, he could fucking melt into the seat and he’s pretty sure Dean would never notice--much less care. But he swallows his pride and he tries to focus on the screen, tries desperately to pretend that the heat of his brother’s body doesn’t make the entirety of his body itch with the need to _touch_.

An hour and some change pass, and Sam’s almost home free, the ending scene of the zombie-apocalypse-sack-of-shit movie they’ve been watching is underway and Sam’s sighing a breath of relief when the lights come up. But when he looks over, he sees Dean lean in and k i s s Anne. And it’s not a peck, no--it’s open mouthed and wet, with Anne’s uncoordinated tongue trying to keep up with Dean’s experienced one.

Time freezes and Sam’s lungs seize in his goddamned chest, his empty bag of mini reese’s crawling up the back of his throat. God he’s gonna be sick. He’s gonna fucking lose his heart, gonna puke it onto the soda-sticky floor beneath his feet and it’s gonna bleed out right in front of him.

Anne giggles when Dean reaches up to palm one of her breasts through her shirt, because god it’s daring to be all of sixteen and making out in a well lit movie theater. And Sam watches as Dean smiles against her mouth, catching her breathy laughs with his razor sharp teeth. The sky could grown arms and snatch him right from his seat and neither one of them could be bothered to care. Afterall, he’s just a pain in the ass little Brother that has to tag along everywhere Dean goes.

Sam grips his knobby knees and digs his fingernails into them, squeezes as tightly as he can, pushes until it burns and breaks skin. He focuses on the pain of it, tries to let it dull out the ache of his hemorrhaging heart. And he’s worked himself up a nice little trail of half moon slits when Dean finally turns to him and flashes him apologetic eyes. But they’re not sorry for the things Sam wants them to be sorry for.

“Hey,” Dean says gently as he reaches into his jacket pocket for something. He pulls out a ten dollar bill and hands it to Sam with a smile. “Why don’t you go play some of those arcade games you like and I’ll come get you in a couple of minutes.”

Sam grabs the bill and looks at it for several seconds, swallowing the rolling nausea in his ribs. Because if he leaves, if he gets up out of his chair--he knows Anne and his Brother are gonna be doing a lot more than just making out and feeling each other up. And there’s parts of him that want to be a defiant little shit and stay, cock-blocking his older Brother just cause he can. But there’s a bigger part of him that screams in the back of his throat, about how his twig bones want to wrap endlessly around Dean’s sturdy ones. And he knows he’s inches away from letting those rotten apple truths escape his mouth.

Dean stares at him like he’s a foreign object, gives him a ‘what are you waiting for?’ look and it has Sam’s chest filling with a rage that could obliterate the earth from it’s goddamned axis in the galaxy. And on the edge of that lick of fire, are heated tears that threaten to break free if he isn’t careful.

And maybe Sam blacks out from the rage in his chest, because he doesn’t remember how he got himself into a bathroom stall. Doesn’t even remember the minutes leading up to him sitting on the toilet seat, his knees held tightly to his chest, as he tries to force oxygen into his lungs. He breathes in and then breathes out slowly. Does it over and over again, his arms shaking as they wrap around his legs.

The only thing he can remember is the blind panic that spun his entire night out of control. One that exaggerated itself when he looked over his shoulder on his way out of the theater and saw Anne’s hand palming itself over Dean’s dick.

Sam looks at his own hands then, looks at their boyish thickness and finds himself hating the baby Brother ‘hands off’ look of them. Why can’t they be good enough to touch Dean like all those pretty girls, why can’t he kiss his Brother open mouthed like Anne Lewis? Why does his no good heart even make him want those things in the first place? What kind of cruel god would plant that seed of desire in his chest?

Definitely not one Sam ever needs to pray to, that’s for sure.

A half an hour goes by, the tears having dried out, giving way to soft hiccups--when the bathroom door creaks open.

“Sammy?” Dean’s voice echoes in the empty bathroom, reverberating only off Sam’s chest.

Sam who stiffens, the backs of his hands wiping at the tear stains on his flushed cheeks. The sound of stall doors being opened and Dean’s boots against the tiled floor, let Sam know he is almost found out.

“Sam?” Dean’s says, more desperate. “Are you in here?” Sam catches the ‘shit’ under Dean’s breath when he opens another stall door and it comes up empty again.

“I’m.” Sam sighs out, his throat aching with the strain of tears. “I’m right here.”

Dean’s shadow falls outside his stall and Sam has to convince every bone in his body, that it’s the best idea to get up and unlock the door. To do it before everything gets worse than it already is, because he’s already got a lot of explaining to do.

When the door opens and Dean takes in his state, there’s a clear flash of panic that washes over his face. “What…” He tries, stepping forward. “Sam? What’s wrong?” Dean’s hand lands on Sam’s shoulder.

Sam digs out the smallest smile he can muster and then gives a shrug. “I don’t feel good.”

Dean’s hand moves, the back of his hand coming to rest against Sam’s forehead. He lets it rest there for a few seconds, before his eyes squint with worry. “You do feel a little warm. I’m sorry, kiddo. Shoulda just told me and we would’ve gone home…”

“Didn’t want to ruin your date.” Sam belches out and it’s riddled with bitterness.

“Yea, well, you’re more important.”

The words sizzle in the air between them and something in Sam’s chest unclenches for the first time all night. _You’re more important_. Sam’s brain draws over every curve and slant of those words and tries to etch them into his memory. Tries to store them on the top shelf of his heart, keeping it close to Dean’s initials.

“C’mon...let’s get you home.” Dean’s arm curls around Sam’s shoulders and pulls him close, pulls him into the place he longs to always be.

“Where’s your girlfriend?” Sam asks, tries to sound innocent.

“She got picked up by her parents.”

Sam smiles at that, because _god fucking bless_.

When Dean opens the car door for him to get in, Sam can’t help but pretend he’s like Anne Lewis, a stupid cute girl with bubblegum lip gloss, that’s lucky enough to ride shotgun with Dean ‘the fucking dream’ Winchester.

Sam’s caught up in his fantasy when he catches the glint of Dean’s eyes in the street lights, from his peripheral. Dean keeps looking at him the entire way back to the motel, as though he’s trying to decode the lockbox that is Sam’s behavior. And when he can’t figure it out, he turns Zeppelin up and returns his attention back to the road.

And when Sam falls asleep that night, it’s with his lips pressed delicately to the inside of his wrist as he pretends it’s his big Brother’s rose petal lips.

‘Someday...’, He thinks.

Someday maybe he’ll be able to kiss the real ones.


	7. Prompt: Stanford Angst

They’ve sat in utter silence, parked in the bus stations parking lot, for over a half an hour. The air is thick with an undeniable electric tension, one they both stray from breaking, because they’re both too scared of the fallout. But that’s always been how it’s worked between them and that’s exactly why Sam had decided that leaving for California was for the best.

Sam’s hand rests on the door handle as he looks ahead at the busses pulling in and away, knowing that soon, it’ll be his time to go. And he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t scared, because well-- _he’s fucking terrified_. He’s never known anything else, besides the scattered motel stays of his childhood. Of only ever having his Brother and a half plugged-in father to hold on to. His feet never having to stray very far from the same four wheels they currently sit in.

A heavy sigh emerges out of Dean’s mouth and it reverberates up and down the entirety of Sam’s spine. He looks over, as he’s done all his life, and sees his Brother’s jaw set tightly and a wave of worry lines etching their way around his eyes. This is hurting him. Sam knows it, because it’s hurting him too.

“Stop blaming yourself,” Sam whispers, his eyes drifting down to the pink of his Brother’s lips, allowing himself to linger there. Perhaps, praying that he doesn’t forget how they’re shaped, while he’s away. “You’ve done nothing wrong. I promise.”

“I know.” It’s subtle, but bity.

Dean turns and offers a soft smile and it stirs some kind of emotion within Sam. It bubbles up into the back of his throat and threatens to prick his eyes, but he fights it. His lips quiver and he begs the stars above, hoping that Dean doesn’t take notice of it. Because the emotion tastes a lot like heartbreak and well, how do you tell your Brother that?

“I think,” Dean says matter of factly. He reaches for the black cord around his neck and pulls the golden horned amulet over his head. “You should keep this.” And he’s handing it to Sam, but all Sam can do is stare at it in Dean’s open palm.

Sam isn’t sure what it means, but the feeling in his chest tells him that it can’t be anything good. After everything that has happened, maybe Dean just can’t wear it anymore. Maybe now that he’s leaving, Dean doesn’t have to pretend, just for his sake. All Sam knows is that it feels like he’s swallowed a thousand knives and that he might bleed out in the passenger seat of the impala.

“De-” Sam’s voice croaks, the wave of emotion unmistakable.

“Sam, just take it.” Dean says and there’s an air of finality in his voice. And Sam can’t help but feel like Dean is being intentionally cruel. Not that he doesn’t have a reason to be.

Dean’s been a lot of things throughout the years, but he’s never been cruel. Especially not to Sam. But maybe that changed over the summer, when Sam ruined everything with his drunken kiss. The one that changed everything, the one that had him actually aching to leave the ‘how could you’ looks Dean’s liked to bury into the sides of his face ever since that horrible night.

Sam reaches for the black cord and the necklace feels like it weighs a goddamned ton. As though, it’s some huge boat anchor that will somehow keep him from leaving and maybe that is Dean’s angle. He stares at the golden face and he can almost remember when he gave it to Dean. Dean, who has never taken it off. Well, at least, until now. Sam balls his fist around it and clenches tightly. A tear escapes his eyes and he can’t tell for sure, but he hopes Dean got a good view of it. Because, in that moment, Sam swears to himself, that it’ll be the last one he ever sheds at Dean’s expense.

There’s a deafening minute that passes and Sam can tell that there is nothing more Dean is going to say and he can’t find it in himself to say anything either. So he shoves the amulet in his jacket pocket and swallows down the feeling of his broken heart, telling himself that it’s almost time to leave anyway.

“Better get your stuff.” Dean says flatly, but not as cold as before.

“Yea.” Sam answers shortly.

“I’ll help you.”

And just like that, the Brother he’s always known reappears and it’s like the previous earth shattering minutes never happened. As though, Sam doesn’t feel the burning metal of the amulet in his jacket. But if this is the way it was going to be; if this is what Dean wanted, Sam would give it to him, no questions asked. Because in the end, Dean deserved this from him. Especially after this last summer.

“Okay.” Sam whispers and offers a small smile. The kind that feels like a thousand miles away from being the real thing. But he lets it linger, even though he’s dying inside.

And then he pulls the handle and opens the car door, stepping out into the brisk night air. He meets Dean around the back, where they both pull his two duffle bags and his backpack out of the truck of the impala. He’s got the backpack slung over his shoulder and one of the bags in his hand, when he notices Dean white knuckling the other. He gives Dean time with it as they turn and head for bus that is his, because he knows, however Dean is feeling, it’s still excruciating for him to let go.

“You got your phone?” Dean looks at him expectantly, waiting for an answer.

“Of course.”

“Good. Don’t forget how to use it.” Green eyes linger on his own for a second longer than necessary and then Dean looks away.

“Okay, well,” Sam whispers, shuffling his feet nervously. “It’s time.” The huge clock above them, declaring his boarding time.

Sam reaches for the duffle bag in Dean’s hand, but Dean moves his hand away from Sam’s and closer to his own body. It’s a reflex. As though this one duffle bag is the only thread he has left to hold onto. Like it’s the only thing keeping Sam from leaving.

“Dean,” Sam says softly, his hand wrapping around the handles of the duffle bag and pulling gently. “Please.” He says more firmly, pulling harder. And it’s just enough force to pull it from Dean’s grip.

Sam lingers a second longer, smiling at a Brother who wears a broken smile, put on just for him. And then somehow, he wills his feet to turn around and move him toward the bus. He looks over his shoulder as he walks and Dean remains frozen where he left him.

Minutes pass, his bags are loaded, his ticket verified and he’s got his foot up on the first step onto the bus, when he feels a desperate hand on his shoulder.

“Sammy, wait…”

He turns around and is met by two arms wrapping around him and pulling him as close as two bodies can possibly be. The type of hug where it’s like you share one skin, it’s so close. Dean buries his face into the crook of his neck and lets out a deafening ‘sniff’.

Sam’s stomach gives out at the sound of it, something inside of him breaking wide open and he clutches his Brother back with equal desperation.

They remain tangled for a few minutes and it’s the driver’s voice warning him to get on or move away, that has him struggling to pull away from Dean.

“You gotta let me go, Dean.” He says gently.

Dean’s arms loosen and then tighten one last time. And as he pulls away he kisses Sam’s cheek, his lips lingering for a second, before he quickly lets go, and turns to walk away.

Sam is left standing outside the bus, headed for Stanford, with the one thing he’s always longed for, still hot upon his cheek. And Sam doesn’t know what it means, but it’s just enough to confuse the hell out of him as he somehow manages to climb the bus stairs and find his seat.

Looking out the window, he can see the impala squealing out of the parking lot and gunning it’s way down the road.

Sam reaches into his pocket with one hand and holds onto the necklace Dean gave back to him. And he presses the palm of his other hand to the place Dean’s lips had been and feels incredibly homesick and heartbroken all at once.

And by the time the bus is pulling away from the station, the tears he’d been trying so hard to hold back, are finally streaming down his cheeks.


End file.
